


Sins of Man Are All I Taste

by Emono



Series: Western Bodice-Ripper's [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bandits & Outlaws, Bodice-Ripper, Body Worship, Breeding, Church Sex, Crossdressing Kink, Dark Character, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Humiliation, Implied Mpreg, Innocence, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mild underage - teenagers, No Plot/Plotless, Nun!Michael, Panty Kink, Personality Swap, Prostitution, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, So be warned, Stockings, Virginity or Celibacy Kink, outlaw!Gavin, outlaw!Geoff, to go along with the theme, virgin!Ray
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-27 00:20:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2671901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emono/pseuds/Emono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father Haywood takes in wayward youth and you can't get much more wayward than a whore who likes to feel pretty in stockings and an orphan boy who likes to please. He helps them rebuild their lives but a fever takes the kindly priest and when he emerges he is no less than a demon with an eye for sweet flesh. And when two outlaws take the church for it's bounty they are surprised to find such succulent treasure - a virgin and a whore. Oh, and they will plunder. Ray finds shameful pleasure in the flesh and Michael remembers why he gave his body to Man long before he gave it to God.</p><p>-</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sins of Man Are All I Taste

**This is pure filth and is the very definition of hentai/bodice ripper logic of "No! Stop, wait, no... _yes_."**  
  
 **I want to warn you now. It's just nun!Michael and stockings and virgin!Ray and then there's going to be a second half where the boys get ravaged by rough and tough outlaws. So, if you're into that sort of thing, WELCOME!**  
  
 **Super heavily inspired by[this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K74tMC1oZG8) and [Chooboozle's Western Fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2359730) which is what wet dreams are made of.**

* * *

 

 

Father Ryan Haywood was a very handsome, wholesome man who wore the cross well. Though younger than the usual priest he had a powerful, silver tongue and a warm presence that could fill a room. He came from a long line of Haywoods, a rich family from further south, and the man was rumored to have hidden riches. Everyone in the lively town of Cockbite knew the priest took in the misfortunate and had led many misguided youth back on the path of righteousness over the years. Lots of younglings had gone into his home and had emerged with twenty five dollars in their pocket, a horse, and provisions to start their new life out in the world. The town sung his praises – his big heart, his generous temper, and his loving demeanor.

 

The Haywood church was a mile out of town and was built strong and sturdy next to his own farmhouse. The crop of land was a rare, green pasture that was occupied by many bovines and a lengthy chicken coop. Every Sunday the place was packed with children who climbed upon the gates to point and awe at the lazy cows. Ryan gave the bigger kids small bags of seeds to feed the chickens.

 

At the moment he had two acolytes.

 

There was Michael. A year ago he was Cockbite’s town pump. Ever since he was a young lad he’d had impure thoughts about men and an affinity for laces and silk. He liked to dress up in the delicate women’s clothing the specialty shop sold. He’d wear them under his regular clothes and he felt so beautiful, so lovely wrapped up like a hidden secret. In the mornings he would look at himself in front of the dirty mirror in his bedroom and just simper. He would run his hands through his hair and stretch out his body to see how wonderful it looked wrapped up in the soft garments. 

 

Once word got out that there was a pretty boy with a foul mouth who didn’t lay with girls he was treated differently. People would side-eye him and make snide comments, would sloppily pour out his shots at the bar and rough handle his groceries. He could take it, he was a tough lad, but there was only so much someone could stand of eyes following them everywhere. One day at the market he bent over to gather apples and felt air on his lower back, the high line of his panties exposed only for a few moments. When he’d stood and righted himself it seemed as if everyone was staring, jaws slack, and the gossip rushed through the town faster than the wind. He’d been a laughingstock before he’d managed to get home. Humiliated to the furthest degree, he was fired from the ranching job he went to three times a week about two miles outside town. No one else would hire him. There was little he could do but crawl inside the bottle. He turned into a lush, labeled a cocksucker and a freak. The saloons started to throw him out on sight, the grocer turned his back on him, and eventually he had to resort to pick-pocketing on busy nights just to fill his belly.

 

The Sheriff had been ready to ride him out of town when the slick dandy named Farmahini who ran the town brothel stepped in and offered Michael a place to stay, meals, and all the booze he could drink. He accepted and threw himself into his desires. After only two weeks, the same Sheriff who’d wanted to chop off his hands for stealing became one of his regulars. Michael got to buy and wear all the lingerie he could get his hands on. It was encouraged, even. Expensive stuff from overseas, English and French styles along with more frilly American wear. He felt like a temptress, a siren, the very embodiment of desire. Michael drew in men from four counties with his pale skin and rare colored hair, his angel-kissed freckles. His beauty overshadowed the other whores. Everyone wanted to fuck a fiery seventeen year old boy who liked to wear panties.

 

But as the weeks went by and the tricks became a faceless blur, Michael found himself drinking more and more until he stopped caring about the money all together. He became a rose – he let Farmahini fuck him every day and took payment in honeyed whiskey and new clothes. The treatment he received at the brothel got worse as the months wore on and the rules the owner had promised when he’d first arrived grew lax. With permission from Farmahini, the johns began to tie him up with ropes, choke him, even chewing into his flesh and fucking him open until he bled.

 

Then came a morning where Michael woke up stone cold sober and found himself in a silken robe with ripped garters and deep bite marks on his thighs. His flesh was swollen and tender, pinpricks of blood smearing scarlet streaks across his skin in a sick imitation of rouge. He’d burst into tears from disgrace and pain and tried to leave, even packing up his meager belongings in an old trunk. But Farmahini was stronger than he looked and had beaten him blue for his “disrespect and childish behavior”. The words twisted the boy’s young mind and he’d ended up begging to stay, pleading with the dandy to make it right, and eventually had been permitted to return to his room on the condition that he crawled. Quietly sobbing, Michael had slunk on his hands and knees all the way up the stairs past the others whores and staff until he could board himself up in his room.

 

Someone must have observed the scene with some amount of sympathy for the next day, early in the morning, a priest came in to the brothel and approached him. Michael had been taking a bottle of rose wine from the shelf when the man called to him.

 

“Em?”, he’d inquired, using the pseudo-name he gave to johns. “My name is Father Haywood. You can call me Ryan. I’ve heard a lot about you.” The man was tall and handsome, and strong hands had taken the bottle from him and set it aside with a simple question. “Are you happy?”

 

Ryan’s smile had been so warm and sincere – Michael had broken down into tears almost instantly. The priest had wiped them away from his bruised cheeks with soft, caring sounds. He’d then offered him a home with real work, a hot meal whenever he needed it, and companionship.

 

“I’m not a fucking choir boy, Father,” Michael had spat with venom.

 

Ryan’s returning laugh had been light, gentle, “Who is?”

 

The priest continued to explain that work would be honest and that he would offer patronage, friendship, to stay at his house and help him with the chores. It was all with the promise that he would never, _ever_ have to come back here. The last was said with a pointed look to Farmahini, the curt greeting of _Brandon_ leaving Ryan’s lips with a small amount of disdain and more manners than the owner deserved. Farmahini had thrown a fit but shut his mouth when the priest asked him to name a price for Michael. An obese number was spat out and Michael had blanched.

 

“Sir, I’m not worth that!”

 

Farmahini had gone to backhand him and Ryan had snatched his wrist mid-air. “You will never raise a hand to this child again.”

 

The money had been thrown at the dandy’s feet, Michael had packed his things, and he’d never returned – all as promised.

 

The second was a boy named Ray. His parents had both perished from a fever at the young age of fourteen and with no other relatives he’d been labeled an orphan. He had worked for a year as a bag boy in the Patillo grocery store but had been fired after getting accused of attacking the town founder and mayor. Burns had cornered him against the flour and grabbed his ass, lips demanding his own, and Jack had walked in just in time to see Ray backhand the mayor with a forceful curse. Burns had claimed ignorance, and his status and friendship had prevailed. Ray had been thrown out to become a street rat and there he stayed for another year – shamelessly begging, starving, and growing filthy in his one set of clothes. Some days he would walk the half mile to the nearest river to bathe but other days it wasn’t worth the effort. He grew so tired as weeks turned into months and his change cup stayed empty.

 

There had been only one bright spot in the dark months. Two strangers rode into town on a rainy night, their bandana-covered faces shielded by the brim of their hats. Ray had taken shelter under a shallow awning and shivered in his thin clothes, hungry and frozen down to the bone. The smaller of the strangers had approached him and he’d been afraid at first but there had been nothing to lose. His useless existence hung in the balance and if were to be shot dead in the streets, so be it. But the stranger had only knelt down in front of him and shed his coat, offering it without a word. Ray hesitated too long and the jacket was wrapped around his shoulders. A bag of silver had been shoved into his hand as well. The boy gaped and stared in disbelief, dumbfounded by the action. Only the stranger’s sparkling green eyes were visible and they were crinkled at the corners in a smile. Shaking from relief instead of cold, Ray had thanked him profusely. Tears had slipped past dark lashes and a leather-clad thumb wiped them away with surprising tenderness.

 

Two months later, Father Haywood found him and took him off the street, offering a warm bowl of stew and a place to stay for the night. There he had met Michael, a reformed harlot, and had received the warmest welcome he’d ever known. After a late night talking with the boy and enjoying the priest’s humor and generosity, Ray had decided to stay.

 

Together, Michael and Ray found God and His glory. Ryan’s kindness warmed their hearts and gave their lives new meaning. They got up early together and fed the cows and chickens, kept the house clean, and cooked all the meals.

 

Ray dealt more with the animals and took care of the farm, building muscle and a sense of accomplishment as he baled hay and cleaned the stalls. He learned a little medicine so he could care for the cows when they grew ill and the town vet came to show him how to birth calves, what to do when they turned themselves around inside their mother or wouldn’t come. The few horses in the barn loved him and he was tasked with making sure they had enough exercise and were shoed properly. It was hard work but he enjoyed it. Ryan often helped him with the brunt of these tasked and joked about trying to find more wayward youth so that Ray didn’t have to do it all alone. They laughed about it together, both pleased that there were no other misfortunate children in the town to take in. Not because they couldn’t afford to, but because the children that could have been on the streets were instead very loved and at home with their families. The easier work he did was pour the communion wine and help the priest with smaller tasks like carrying trays or passing out the collection plate.

 

Michael kept the church itself spotless with wax and elbow grease. He had washed all the windows and kept the curtains clear of dust. Before every service he lit the candles and filled the anointing bottles with holy oil, stocked the incense burners, and made sure everything from the collection plate to the guest book was in its proper place. He ironed Ryan’s clothes and shined the priest’s gold rosary and crucifix to an impressive gleam. Michael did all this behind the scenes for people still remembered his disgrace and openly sneered at him when they passed. Instead of joining the service like Ray did, the older boy prayed quietly to himself alone on the upper balcony while Ryan gave his sermon just to avoid the dirty looks from the man and the disgusted grimaces from their wives. That, and his choice of clothing was considered disturbing to the townspeople.

 

Michael had chosen the habit of a nun instead of the simple black pants and high collar shirt that Ray had picked, a traditional clothing choice for an acolyte. Michael had thoroughly confessed his sins and begged Ryan to allow him this one offense so as to serve God as he was most comfortable. Ryan had gently allowed it and had ordered several outfits to fit the boy’s form. The habit cut a line along the top of his head to reveal his thick, ginger curls. The white band gave way to a flow of black fabric that trailed along his shoulders and down his back. The collar wasn’t choking and allowed a generous view of his neck and the delicate gold cross necklace that sat so beautifully in contrast to milky white skin. A leather waist cincher sat over the coarse material and cut his fine figure from the flow of cloth. But beneath it…there was a panel that covered the slit he’d hemmed into all of his clothes, and if he were to unbutton it, it would allow the dress to billow and reveal the feminine garments he wore beneath.

 

For the first time in his life he felt safe and comfortable with himself.

 

o0o0o0o

 

Ryan went into town to pick up some groceries and feed, leaving his two boys alone with a promise to be back before supper. It was the middle of the week and the land was quiet save for the low mooing of the cows and the rustle of the chickens. Ray and Michael sat together on the porch swing, hands laced shyly as they admired the back of the church and mused on how lucky they were to be here on God’s own little patch of green so far out in the middle of nowhere. The west was usually full of plateaus and desert like heat but five miles in every direction seemed to grow grass and run rich with the bounty of the earth. Ryan often said God Himself had laid this out for them as a calling, a beacon, and a place to rest comfortably and live their lives with His blessing. Something about the mild weather seemed to keep Cockbite and its surrounding inhabitants from the misfortune of bandits or outlaws.

 

The two boys had become the best of friends over the months, brothers under His service though so very different, so much more in a way they never spoke of.

  
“Want to see something?” Michael asked mischievously, dressed in his habit though there would be no service until the weekend. Ray nodded eagerly and the older boy dug his fingers into the material of his dress to undo a few of those hidden buttons. He pulled back the material with a wide smile to show off the rose pink stockings and matching garters he’d chosen this morning. Ray’s jaw dropped and he stared at sheer material as it glittered in the sunlight. They hugged his friend’s plump thigh like a second skin and his eyes trailed all the way down the curve muscled curve of his calf.

 

“You look lovely,” he breathed, stunned,

 

Michael chuckled and took a hold of his hand again to bring it over to lay upon his thigh, each fingertip a hot point of contact through the obscenely thin material. Ray’s ears burned as he grew flustered and shifted restlessly on the swing.

 

“Don’t they feel nice?” the older boy asked, gently moving Ray’s hand so he could truly feel the smoothness of the material.

 

“T-They do,” he stuttered out. He was barely able to watch his own hand glide along Michael’s leg. His tan skin was a beautiful contrast against the rose-stained porcelain flesh. That dusty pink instantly became his new favorite color.

 

“Have you ever tried it?” Michael asked in a hushed voice.

 

Ray quickly shook his head. “It’s indecent for me. I’m not beautiful like you.”

 

“Ray,” Michael purred, covering the younger boy’s hand and forcing it to slip into the warm inside of his thigh. Despite the rough work they did it was somehow still smooth, the gloves they often wore when doing harder work having protected them both from callouses. The creams Michael bought from town helped more than anything. He felt his friend’s fingers twitch and his teeth caught his lip. It had been so long since someone had touched him, even longer since they had done so in love. He leaned in and brushed a chaste kiss on Ray’s cheek but the other blushed darkly and pulled away. Michael released the hand and put his in his lap, eyes staying on his knees as he silently prayed for forgiveness.

 

“Ryan would be disappointed in us if he were to have seen that,” Ray stated lowly, guilt creeping up on him as he saw his friend flinch. “Why don’t we go give the chickens their lunch? They must be famished by now.”

 

Michael silently agreed and put on a smile. “Race you?”

 

“You’re on.”

 

o0o0o0o

 

Ray waited until he knew Ryan was asleep before he got out of bed and lit a candle, making his way out of his room and down the hall to Michael’s door. He tapped at it lightly and waited. The house was large and the floors were thick so they did not often creak with the boys’ footstep, and they were lucky that their caretaker was such a heavy sleeper. Though there was nothing sinful between them, Ryan would frown upon the two acolytes staying in each other’s rooms so late at night. It wasn’t decent.

 

Michael cracked open the door and peeked through, smiling brightly before pulling it all the way open. The older boy was wearing a robe while Ray had only come in his thermals. He was rushed inside and the latch was shut firmly – just in case. Michael giggled and rifled through his drawers while the younger’s candle was set aside with two others that served to brighten the room and give it a golden glow.

 

“I’m so glad you agreed to do this,” Michael declared as he pulled out a pair of silk panties. They were black with white lace trim and the delicacy was shoved into Ray’s hands. The older plopped down onto the bed and waited impatiently with a flap of his hands. “Go on.”

 

“I don’t know,” Ray faltered.

 

Michael pouted for a moment but his face soon broke out in a smile. “Here.” The robe was shed and tossed aside. Ray sucked in a small gasp when a plain, white silk shift was exposed, the material flowing down to his friend’s ankles and the straps loose on his shoulders, a cleft cut in the material for full breasts to fill. With the boy’s flat chest it hung carelessly and exposed the just of his collarbones and the faint pink of his nipples. Even in such a formless garment he was beautiful. “There. Now we’re both doing it. Please, Ray, just once. This one time and I’ll never ask you to do it again.”

 

“Michael, maybe-”

 

“It’s just for fun,” he promised. “No one will ever know.”

 

“Fine,” Ray huffed, suddenly so very shy. “Close your eyes.”

 

Michael made a show of putting his hands over his eyes and claimed he wasn’t looking. Ray quickly stripped off his pants and underwear but paused, staring at the silk material in his hands like it was going to bite him. He looked to his friend and noted how gorgeous he was, and with that encouragement he slipped his legs through the holes and pulled them up. It took a bit of adjusting to get himself inside but he wasn’t very large so it fit nicely with a little coaxing. Like Michael he was almost hairless and the faint dusting on his thighs complimented the dark material. His whole face burned but he cleared his throat and stated he was wearing it. Michael’s alluring doe eyes popped open and a burst of butterflies went through his stomach. He pushed at the edge of his shirt and tried to cover them up, squirming under his friend’s pleased smirk.

 

“How do they feel?”

 

“Really smooth,” Ray admitted.

 

“I know, right?” Michael giggled, patting the spot on the bed beside him. “Come here.”

 

Still trying to hide the panties, Ray went over and sat. Michael rucked up his shift into silky bunches in his fists and swung a leg over the younger boy, straddling his lap though a bit low closer to his knees so they weren’t pressed up against one another. Ray blushed and looked away, heart pounding nervously, throat threatening to close up. “We shouldn’t be doing this, Michael.”

 

The older boy hushed him. “Look? Please, Ray, for me?”

 

It took Ray a few breathless moments but he managed to scrape together his nerve and shifted his gaze. When he did all the breath as stolen from his lungs and a forbidden tingle buzzed between his legs. Michael was wearing similar panties, shift raked up around his pale stomach, the beautiful boy sitting gracefully upon Ray's knees.

 

“We match. Aren't we a pretty pair of lads?” Michael cooed, subtly thrusting out his hips to show off just how lovely the lace trim looked resting against his hips. Ray nodded dumbly as he tried his best not to stare at the slight bulge in the silk. “Why don't you sleep in here with me tonight?”

 

“Ryan wouldn't allow it.” The words came quick, a reflex.

 

Michael's smile was pure honey as he wound his pale, freckled arms around the younger boy's shoulders. He scooted closer in one easy movement and his fingers tangled in dark hair. Ray's breath shuddered as the other's face loomed close to his own, noses brushing intimately. The pink, cupid-bow mouth was carved from sin itself and threatened to brush his own. “He doesn't have to know.”

 

“Michael, please,” Ray begged in a pitiful whine, hands useless at his sides. He felt blood rushing south as smooth skin and silky material brushed over his bare thighs. Michael smelled like musky incense and sweet perfume. “You're tempting me.”

 

Michael's hands drew back, lower lip quivering as guilt washed through him. “I-I...I didn't mean to.” He pushed down his shift to cover his shame. Tears welled up in his eyes and he sniffled in an attempt to keep them at bay. “I just like you so much, Ray. I'm sorry. Forgive me.” He got to his feet and snatched up his robe, pulling it tight around him as he realized just how wanton he had been acting. “Why don't you keep them? They look beautiful on you.”

 

Ray looked down at his lap and bit the side of his lip. “I don't see the harm.”

 

o0o0o0o

 

Michael dipped the rag in the homemade varnish once more before he slid it along the seat of the pew. There was a dozen pews on each side of the church and he liked to sand and shine them once a week to keep their immaculate finish with so many squirming bodies to occupy them on the weekends.

 

“Michael.”

 

Michael looked up and beamed brightly at the man that came up to stand next to him. “Good morning, Father.”

 

“Stand, my son,” Ryan commanded softly with a rising gesture of his pal. “I wish to talk to you.”

 

Michael set the cloth on the lid of the jar and got to his feet, palms swiping on his rough pants to leave behind shining trails. Worry furrowed his brow.

 

“Are you wearing them?”

 

Michael swallowed back a whine as a deep, agonizing contrition clenched up his heart. His chest ached and it felt like it would collapse upon itself at any moment. Words spilled from him like water. “Father, forgive me. I am shameful. I didn't want to tell you, I didn't want you to be angry with me.”

 

Michael hiccuped and started to cry right then and there, lashes glistening with sudden tears. Ryan shushed him and brought him into a firm hug, rubbing his back and begging him quietly not to shed such tears.

 

“My sweet-hearted Michael.” Ryan pet the boy's curls and eased his head from his shoulder so he could properly look into his flushed little face. “Do not be upset. I just happened to see them the other day while you were stacking the Bibles.”

 

“I'll stop,” Michael stated with a sour stomach, pushing himself up against the priest and burying his face in the man's strong chest. “I'll throw them away. I'll burn them. Please allow me to restore your faith in me.”

 

“My faith in you is as unwavering as mine is in Him.” Ryan wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulder and drew him away to properly see his face. He took a kerchief from his pocket and wiped at his face, tucking a thumb under his chin to lock their gazes. “And He loves you, Michael, always, no matter your clothes.” He dabbed under those lovely hazel eyes until he got the boy to smile faintly. “But, my son, may I ask that you wear more... _traditional_ colors while carrying out your chores here in the church or on the grounds? Such vibrant displays are lustful and I brought you were to show you a more holy way to live your life.”

 

Michael awed at the words. He'd thought the priest was kind before but this was a true miracle.

 

“I only want what's best,” Ryan assured him, tucking a curl behind his ear. “How about I help you finish up here and we head into town to purchase you suitable delicacies in black and white? To match your habit?”

 

Michael felt like there were stars in his eyes for there was certainly no breath in his lungs. “Father Haywood – would you really allow such a thing?”

 

Ryan looked struck by his words. “Of course, my son. I would not deny who you are for He loves us all. We are...?”

 

“Made in his image,” Michael finished dutifully.

 

The priest chose his words carefully so as not to offend his boy. “You may wear your more _colorful_ clothes in the sanctity of your bedroom. Such attention you would get from them would be obscene in the eyes of our Lord.”

 

Michael dropped to his knees with a _thud_ and kissed Ryan's hand, whispering how grateful he was into the man's knuckles.

 

“Stop,” Ryan demanded as he grabbed the boy under the arm and hauled him to his feet. “Do not be blasphemous, Michael.”

 

“I don't know what else to do,” Michael laughed breathlessly. “You have treated me better than any man I've ever known.” He thought of his abusive father and his smile faded. “You don't think I'm a freak, do you Father? You really think God loves me like this?”

 

“There is not a doubt in my mind,” Ryan swore as he mopped up the last tear. “Let me fetch a rag and we'll finish the pews together. How does that sound?”

 

“Wonderful.”

 

o0o0o0o

 

The fever came quickly. On Friday night he went to bed with an upset stomach and a light headache. Saturday morning he gave his sermon with as much conviction as he always did but when the last person left he took to bed in a claim of exhaustion. The night was sluggish and the young acolytes worried. When the priest didn't emerge from his room Sunday morning they went in to find him soaked through with sweat and glassy eyed. Church was cancelled and the doctor was called. He was an older, kindly fellow and he didn't sugar coat his words to the boys.

 

“If he makes it through the night, he'll live. But that will be a miracle. He’s half gone already.”

 

The doctor told them how to take care of Ryan and he left, nothing more to be done. Together they took a midnight vigil, mopping up sweat with gentle swipes and encouraging water past dry lips. They're strong caretaker was reduced to an empty stare and uncontrollable trembles, flesh washed out and clammy. They kept changing the sheet, laying it mid-chest to keep him both warm and cool, but he sweated right through it every half hour or so. Ryan went beyond words and could barely acknowledge them.

 

Ray and Michael stayed near, a chair on either side of the bed. In the darkest moment of the witching hour, they each took one of his hands silently wept as the severity of the situation hit them.

 

Michael placed a tender kiss on the back of the priest's hand. “If we lose him, we lose everything.”

 

A sob bubbled up out of Ray's throat and he clutched the older man's fingers tighter. Michael reached out and laid his hand on the younger boy's head, heart breaking for them both.

 

o0o

 

By the morning, the fever had broken and Ryan could speak again. The boys were elated. At first, at least. Something had gone wrong, the fever had changed Ryan. Their mild-mannered caretaker who often refused to take communion wine began to favor whiskey, pouring himself out a shot more often than not to help him get through the day. There was a dark gleam in his usually clear eyes. He started to make comments on how the boys looked and let his touches linger. Sweet endearments replaced their names.

 

Michael noticed it first and began to put himself between Ryan and their youngest as often as he could. He knew the hungry look in the priest’s eyes all too well. After two weeks of questionable behavior, Michael finally convinced his friend to sleep in his room. And often. At first he’d spun lies of nightmares and uneasy rest, of being afraid to sleep alone _I won’t wear anything distracting, I promise._ On those nights Michael made sure to secure the latch. Though sometimes he found rest, most nights he stayed up watching the door. He would pet soothingly through Ray’s hair or along his side and _feel_ Ryan’s presence waiting just in the hall as if debating on breaking down the door.

 

Ray began to notice a little at a time but he didn’t want to believe it. Unlike Michael he did not know the bodily lust of men and how it could drive them to do such untoward things. His fears were confirmed one evening when he knew Michael was bathing. Ray went to bring his friend fresh towels and found Ryan standing outside the cracked door and peering inside. The reformed whore stood in the wide basin naked as the day he was born and slicked with suds, oblivious to the hungry stare. The young lad had fled but couldn’t put it out of his mind.

 

He could feel Ryan's looks sticking to his hips and he jumped every time he felt the brush of fingertips across his ass or over his thighs. It scared him right down to his core and he prayed even harder for God to take the wickedness from Ryan's heart, to bring back the sweet man that had taken him in. But no matter how often he spoke or how much he yearned for it with a pure heart, God didn't seem to be listening. He threw himself into his chores and suffered as Christ did, scrubbing until his fingers were numb and his knees bled, but his sincerity was unseen or ignored by His gaze.

 

“Please,” Ray muttered with each swipe of the brush across the floors, tears in his eyes, “Please. Please. Take it away.” He slumped in exhaustion, the stench of lemons burning his nose and his palms stinging from the splits the worn, wooden handle had put in his skin. “Help him, Holy Father...please.”

 

o0o

 

Ray laid in bed with Michael on a chilly, rainy night. He listened to the soothing sound of water against the roof and watched the raindrops race each their down the window by the bed. A lone, flickering candle providing enough light to make out the older boy's tense jaw and pursed lips. His head was tucked into Michael's chest and he could feel the tense, measured breaths as the other watched the door. It was every night now and he could see the effects in the dark smudges under his doe eyes.

 

“He's different now,” Ray whispered into the quiet room.

 

“He is,” Michael admitted freely as he splayed a hand between the younger boy's shoulder blades.

 

Ray rubbed his cheek against a pale collar bone. “What are we going to do?”

 

“This is our home and we can only hope things will change,” Michael confessed before he pressed a sweet kiss to his friend's forehead. “I won't let him touch you.”

 

Ray dragged the blanket up over them both and prayed it wouldn't have to come to that.

 

o0o0o0o

 

Michael raced down the steps and tied his robe closed, a little flustered from waking up late. He wanted to properly apologize to his caretaker before he got himself ready for the day. He mentally ticked off his list of chores as he hurried to the kitchen.

 

_Collect eggs, find the spare candles, clean Majesty’s stall and check her hooves if Ray hasn’t already done it…_

 

His usual greeting stuck in his throat and he stopped dead in the doorway. Ryan stood there in the middle of the room with a calm smile. It was not an unusual sight but the flat white box on the table was. He recognized it as a clothing box but there was big, shining red ribbon tied over it. The boy frowned and looked to the priest. “Father?”

 

“When I went to town yesterday I saw something that you would like,” Ryan began with a little gesture toward the present. “Please. Open it.”

 

Michael’s fingers tightened around his robe and he became highly aware that he only wore a simple pair of stockings and panties beneath it. No garters, no shirt – only what he’d slept in. “I should get to work, Father.”

 

Blue eyes crinkled. “Work can be put off for a few moments of enjoyment.”

 

“Where’s Ray?”

 

“He’s out in the barn.” There was impatience there now. “Michael, it’s rude to make me wait.”

 

Michael nodded and slowly walked to the table, stocking-clad feet barely making a sound on the floor. He pulled at the ribbon until it gave. He swallowed thickly before lifting the lid and then desperately wished he hadn’t done so. Inside was a rosewood colored, silk nightie. It wasn’t like his usual long shifts that danced around his ankles – this one would cut off mid-thigh. Its straps were thin and it’s lacy, straight neckline would cling to his flat chest in what he was sure would be an obscene way. He blushed horribly and let it fall back among the tissue paper.

 

“Do you like it?” Ryan inquired as he pressed up against the boy’s side to reach into the box and thumb at the silk. “I know how much you like red. It’s such a whorish color. Try it on. I want to see how pretty you look in it.”

 

Michael couldn’t find his voice. He could only shake his head and turn away, praying that this was all some sick dream and he would awake before the worst of it. A hand shot out and grabbed the front of his throat to _squeeze_ and pin him in place. Ryan fit back against his back and the flow of body heat was far from comforting.

 

“I’ve seen the way you look at me with those lustful eyes,” Ryan rumbled, thumb digging down in the boy’s pulse to feel it flutter. “You rake, craving the sinful touch of a holy man. Sweet Michael, you’re trembling. Why? What has changed?”

 

The hand slid from his throat to his shoulder and nails dug in until he whimpered. “Please, Father…”

 

Lips brushed the shell of his ear. “Where’s the boy that snuck into my room the night I brought him home and tried to wrap his mouth around my cock?”

 

His shoulder was mercifully released. Fingers slowly dragged down the length of his body and slipped into the fold of his robe, easing it open so a shell pink nipple could be toyed with. The sick shock of pleasure Michael got from the contact made him gag. But the touch didn’t stop – it eased down and then a blunt palm laid across the front of his panties. He jerked back but it only sunk him deeper into the priest’s embrace. The older man’s thumb dug into the swell of sensitive flesh.

 

“My _small_ , beautiful boy…”

 

Michael broke away and ran for the stairs. He retreated to his room and locked the door, waiting, terrified, pinching himself in the stale hope he was trapped in a nightmare. After a while he got dressed in regular clothes and went out to do his chores. Ryan treated him no differently and the nightie was gone, replaced with some toast and a glass of juice.

 

He didn’t tell Ray. He didn’t know what to say.

 

o0o0o0o

 

Ryan was drunk. He'd started on the liquor early and the boys made it their mission to stay out of his way. But they were hungry so they made a large, proper dinner in hopes of pleasing their caretaker. Ryan emerged from his room in just his slacks and an unbuttoned shirt. It was a state of undress they weren't used to. The priest was usually pristine and pressed but he looked a ruddy mess now. Though Michael tried to silently dissuade them, Ray made a plate and carried it over to the older man.

 

“Please, Father,” Ray offered with his best smile. “You should have something in your stomach if you're going to drink so much.”

 

A sharp slap knocked the plate to the floor and it shattered, food scattering along the freshly scrubbed floors. Ray was taken aback and he cringed when the priest's fingers snatched his chin. Nails dug in hard enough to make pinpricks blossom along the smooth skin. “I'd rather put something in your stomach, sweet boy. Like a nice, fat litter of my pups.”

 

Michael moved faster than he ever had in his entire life. He pulled Ray away so hard the boy lost his footing and sprawled on the floor. He got in Ryan’s face, shoving him with the heels of his palms. “How dare you say filth like that to him!”

 

Ryan reeled back his fist and sucker punched the lad square in the jaw. Michael swore he saw stars as he staggered into the table, gut tight and eyes wide in disbelief. The whole thing rattled and groaned under the impact and he thought it would collapse but it stayed up as well as he did. He’d barely caught his breath before Ryan grabbed him by the nape and bent him over the edge, forceful fingers curling in the top of loose pants to rip them down his legs. Michael cried out a protest but it was too late. The pastel pink panties and garter set he’d put on this morning was supposed to be a surprise for Ray, a little gift tonight to encourage his friend to maybe try some more feminine clothing with him. He’d daydreamed of the two of them lounging in silk and rubbing sweet-smelling cream into each other’s skin, talking about what they’d do once they left here. But that dream was shattered with a flick of the garter against his leg.

 

Ray sat on the floor with useless legs and heaving lungs. He was paralyzed with fear, tears swimming in his eyes as he pressed a knuckle to his mouth to swallow down any pathetic sounds. Michael thrashed bravely and showed his true strength as he broke from the priest’s grip and turned, kicking out and digging his heel right into his stomach. Ryan only snarled and wrapped a meaty hand around his throat, forcing the boy to bend backwards on the table until his legs were useless and his back was flat on the cold wooden surface. Pants and shoes fell away as Michael tried to kick but it only seemed to encourage the older man. A calloused hand ran down one lively leg and blatantly groped over where flesh met lace trim.

 

“Silky smooth,” Ryan growled, hauling the boy up so their noses nearly touched. “You’re always the perfect little doll, aren’t you?”

 

Ryan pushed himself between the stocking-clad legs and slanted a hard kiss full of teeth across his mouth. Michael’s whimper of distress was muffled by the man’s mouth and he pawed at broad shoulders until he could rip himself away.

 

“Go upstairs,” Michael rasped, voice steady despite the hand on his throat.

 

Ray shuddered as the priest side-eyed him. “Yeah, little boy, the grown-ups need to play.”

 

Michael gave a little growled and smacked at his chest, silky heels kicking at the man’s stalwart legs to try and put some distance between them. Ryan sneered and raked his nails down the boy’s thigh, fragile panties tearing at the edge and thin stockings tearing easily under the force.

 

“Ray, go,” Michael begged as welts started to bloom along his pale skin.

 

Ray could barely contain his sobbing as he got to his feet and ran as if hellfire licked at them. He went straight to Michael’s bedroom and locked the door. His own room didn’t have a latch and he wanted to wait for his friend. If something happened to him he didn’t know what he’d do. Ray cursed his own cowardice but he didn’t know what else to do. Ryan was far stronger than him and he had nowhere to run, no place that wanted him. A crash from downstairs knocked him out of his thoughts and he chewed his lip raw, waiting on bated breath for what he wasn’t sure. There was some shouting, the sounds of pots being thrown around, and then a last angry bark that he was sure came from their caretaker. Thuds got closer and closer until the knob jerked loudly. Ray whined softly and wondered if he would survive jumping out the window but then his friend’s voice came through the door.

 

“Ray?”

 

Ray rushed and pulled the latch. Michael came in with shining, flushed cheeks and a matching pair of ripped stockings. The beautiful material was in ribbons from harsh treatment. His poor mouth looked just as abused and there was a speckle of blood upon the cupid bow lips Michael went to the bed and started shedding his clothes as Ray locked the door again to put a barrier between them and the priest. The younger lad watched with a heavy heart as Michael sat naked on the mattress and started to cry with hushed, soft sobs. His poor friend looked defeated.

 

Ray went to the drawers and found a pair of blue cotton panties that felt comfortable against his skin. He went and knelt down in front of Michael, easing each of the boy’s feet into the holes and slowly pulling the material up his legs. Michael flinched at first but once he realized what was happening he broke into a smile. Ray helped him shield his modesty before he encouraged the other to lay down. Together they got under the blankets and limbs twined, legs lacing and arms curling over warm bodies, noses nuzzling whatever they could find.

 

“Don’t protect me like that, Michael. I-I can’t watch him-”

 

“Hush,” Michael implored as he tangled their fingers and touched their foreheads together. “Pray with me for strength and guidance.”

 

Ray nodded and they began – silently, at first, and then matched each other word for word with a fresh batch of tears between them.

 

“…hour of our conflict; be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God restrain him, we humbly pray…”

 

o0o

 

The next morning the boys came down together, fully dressed and ready for what may come. Ryan had fixed a bountiful breakfast and a dozen plates of food sat along the kitchen table to be sampled at. The chair that had been broken in the skirmish was out on the porch in the bin. Ryan’s eye was black and there were scratches down his cheek to the hollow of his neck like he’d been mauled. Ray and Michael did not greet him but they did sit down beside each other to eat, eyes lowered and hands efficient.

 

“Boys, please, I beg you to forgive me.” There was a flat note in the apology that sapped its sincerity. “I drank beyond my measure and I lost myself. What I did-”

 

“Stop,” Michael demanded sharply, glaring before returning to his eggs.

 

Ryan frowned deeply. “So we’ll never talk about this? My actions were ugly and uncalled for.”

 

“Yes they were,” Michael affirmed. “What you did and said…what you tried to do…no words can forgive. Only actions.”

 

Ray stood and fed off his friend’s resolve as he collected their dirty dishes. “We cannot absolve your guilt, Ryan, only He can. Our trust will not be easily earned.”

 

“I could kick you out,” Ryan threatened casually.

 

Michael went white-hot and his voice grew sharp. “Then do it.”

 

A shadow passed over the priest’s face. “It will not be that easy.”

 

Ray had never felt true fear until that moment.

 

* * *

 

 

 **(All fics in this Western Universe are unrelated unless stated otherwise)**  


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